Eyes on him.
A slow, sultry song fills my small room, and with the lamp dimmed, it feels like a smoky lounge in here.
And I feel like a different version of me. I’m the me in Paris. The me who goes clubbing. The me who doggedly chases opportunities.
I’m not the girl who hurt her family.
I left her in New York.
Finn’s parked in a burgundy chair across the room, legs spread, one arm slung across the back. The other hand holds a tumbler of amber liquid. His gaze is powerful as it locks on mine, eyes a dark emerald, full lips a hard ruler. He lifts that glass of scotch, taking his time, assessing my body, his confident pose making it clear he’s in charge as he studies me in the doorway.
Then, he gives the barest of nods. He’s the high-end customer in my exotic dance club, I head to him, taking my sweet time. My hips sway from side to side, seductively teasing him with every step. His eyes travel up and down my body as he takes in my costume.
It’s simple. A short skirt, schoolgirl style, and a tight white blouse. But the gift he gave me peeks out, since I unbuttoned the top just enough to reveal the white lace demi-cup bra with red tulips embroidered on the cups. The panties are low-cut, and they match.
“Hey there, handsome,” I say as I reach him, stopping a foot away to leave some space, create some anticipation. “Can I interest you in a dance tonight?”
“Maybe,” he says, a little aloof. He lifts the tumbler and knocks some back before setting it down on the oak table next to the gift bag he’s had with him all night. He hasn’t opened it yet. My curiosity is piqued, but I push it aside when he asks, “What kind of dance?”
I finger the top of my blouse, giving him a peek at my cleavage. “The kind with rules.”
“Yeah? You think I like to play by the rules?” he asks, his tone brusque, his deep voice sending a spark through me.
I roam my gaze up and down him, the man who’s playing the part of the uncaring businessman out for a night at a gentlemen’s club. He’s good at pretend, but the vein in his neck pulses, giving him away and giving me my power. “I think you won’t let me walk away.”
I spin on my black heels, the stripper ready to leave.
“I’ll play by your rules,” he grumbles.
I whirl around, lean closer, and run a finger over the collar of his shirt. “I had a feeling you would.” I tap dance my fingers along his neck. “Here’s the first one. You can look, but only I can touch.”
“Fine. What else?”
“No touching, no kissing, and you have to keep your clothes on.” I lick the corner of my cherry-red lips, waiting for his yes. “What’ll it be?”
He reaches for his glass, swallows more, then sets it down, his eyes flickering with dirty thoughts. “Guess I just bought a tease.”
My smile spreads, slow and sensual. “Yes. Yes, you did, handsome.”
As the song slides into a low beat, a pulsing baseline of longing, I step a few feet back, playing with the buttons on my blouse. Fiddling with the top one, I reveal more skin. With each button I undo, his jaw tightens, his breathing sharpens.
Good. A charge rushes through me and once my shirt is undone, I glide a hand down the valley of my breasts, over my stomach, stopping at my skirt. “Just a little torment for the customer,” I whisper.
“Gimme more,” he says. “That’s my rule.”
“That’s a very good rule, handsome. I’d hate to break it.” I come closer, enough that my thighs brush against his knees. I set my hands on the arms of his chair, giving him a dance.
Finn draws a sharp inhale through his nose. A man coming undone.
Biting the corner of my lips, I move away, shaking my ass in time with the music. I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes tracing my curves. I run my palms over my ass, sticking it out, letting him enjoy the view.
“Yes,” he rasps.
I smile privately then turn around, letting my shirt fall to the floor. I return to him, standing as I slide one thigh of his between mine. He grips the arms of the chair, and I grind down on his strong muscle so he can feel my desire in my wet panties.
He grunts. “More.”
I feel powerful, like a goddess. Like I’m in charge of my own fate, like I’ve made no mistakes.
I grind and I touch, my hands covering his chest as we move together. The line between fantasy and reality blurs. We’re dancer and customer. We’re two strangers. We’re lovers in Paris. We’re us, making up our own rules, and bending all of them.
As his breathing turns labored, and my skin grows hot, I tear myself away, walking slowly across the room, unzipping the skirt, and stepping out of it.
One spin, and I’m a wicked woman as I stand before him in white lace, black heels, and flushed skin.
He’s fully clothed, and his erection is tenting his slacks obscenely.
Finn grits his teeth as I sashay my way back to him, shaking my tits, my hips, my ass. All the curves he loves. When I reach him, I turn once more so I can lower my butt to his thighs and grind down on him, my hair spilling over his chest.
His harsh breath fills my ears, the sound of a man’s restraint crumbling. His fingers twitch, and then as I rub my ass against his hard-on, he breaks, one big hand coming down on my thigh, squeezing possessively.
I shake my head, then peel off his hand. “Don’t break the rules,” I purr.
His lips coast along the back of my neck. “Fuck rules,” he warns me.
Heat sparks down my spine, heading straight for my core, but I try to stay in character. “Rules are rules, handsome.”
He drags his nose along my neck. “My rule is I want you. Now.”
I go up in a white-hot blaze of sex and lust. I can literally feel my panties dampen. He can, too, since he grabs my hips and presses me harder, more urgently down on him.
I should stay in character. Truly I should, but I’m melting under his strong hands, his commanding voice, and his unchecked lust.
I’m still amazed he feels this way for me.
Me.
A woman who for years didn’t want sex. Who abandoned all interest in it until she started thinking of it again in the most inappropriate of ways.
Now, here I am being appropriately inappropriate. Touching, teasing, toying with a man I shouldn’t have.
High on this feeling of power and sex, I push my luck. I step away, walking toward the bed, each click of my heels on the hardwood a punctuation mark. I wheel around, unhook my bra, and toss it at him.
“Stay there,” I say, before he can devour me. I hold up a stop-sign hand. “Don’t break the rules, handsome.”
Finn says nothing, just seethes with desire, huffing like an animal. I return to him, straddling his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, then dry fucking him. Rock, grind, thrust. Rinse, lather, repeat, until I fire the starting shot. “Break them,” I order.
A racehorse at the gates, he’s up, hoisting me over his shoulder, carrying me to the bed, tossing me down.
As he toes off his shoes, he says, “Leave your shoes on.”
My inhibitions are out the window. He slides next to me and thrusts an eager hand inside my panties, and I arch shamelessly.
“My rules now,” he growls as he glides those talented fingers over me, and I writhe.
“What are they?” I gasp out. “Your rules?”